


Untie the ribbons

by sirona



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Captain Sasspants, Feelstide 2013, Gen, Get Together, Holding Hands, Kitten!, M/M, Romance, Team!, courting, feeeeelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to declare your affections: lessons from Phil Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untie the ribbons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #40: Someone gets the Avengers a kitten for Christmas. Happy Feelstide! <3
> 
> With massive thanks to Anna for reading and squeeing and generally being THE MOST ENCOURAGING. <333

"No. No _way_."

"But, Tony--"

" _No_ , oh my god! I can't--you know I'm allergic! Pepper!"

"Stark, come on. Are you seriously trying to tell your girlfriend she can't keep it?"

"Stow it, Captain Sasspants, no one asked you."

"I do still live here though, right? Because I distinctly remember someone making a long, self-involved speech about this being our home and us treating it as such and a whole lot of beating of gums in the same vein. Now, you telling me that was a load of baloney? It won't exactly come as a surprise, but I thought better of you, Tony."

"I didn't--that wasn't--of course this is your home! I meant what I said. And--fine, if you want to keep a, a ball of meanness and shedding and evil, then fine, you can keep it! Just make sure it stays out of my workshop."

"Why on earth would a kitten want to go in your workshop, Tony?"

"Not you too! I wouldn't have thought the Big Guy would be a fan of cats. They screech and make unexpected noises and pounce on you and ruin your experiments!"

"He is actually surprisingly fond of them. They purr."

"...I'm not going to win this one, am I?"

"No, Stark. You lost it the second you thought you could tell Pepper what to do."

"Ah, crap. You know, I'm sure I fired you, why are you still hanging round my offices?"

"You can't fire me. I work for Pepper. And it's fun terrorising your high and mighty board members. Teach them the error of their ways."

"Nope, okay, I stand corrected, hang around all you like, as long as you get up those stuffed shirts' noses."

"I did not know shirts had noses on Midgard? What a novel concept! What do they use them for? Is it to tell you when it is washing day?"

"...Kill me now."

"They seem to be getting along."

Clint looks up from the book he's been pretending to read for the last half hour so he didn't have to wade into that spring-trap-loaded discussion. Phil lowers himself next to him on the sofa, close enough for their shoulders to touch. It sends a thrill of guilty pleasure through Clint's chest, just like every other time that Phil has shown partiality for him. Which is ridiculous and pathetic, but--he can't help basking in this rapport the two of them have always had, come hell or high water.

"You couldn't have known that. Quite a gamble, sir, bringing that timebomb to live with us."

"Us, huh?"

Clint shifts. "I am part of the team," he concedes. It's not the same as agreeing that he does live here and as such is accorded the same rights as everyone else, but... It hasn't really sunk in yet, even though it's been over a year now since Stark bullied them one at a time into moving in. He wonders if Phil realises that he and Stark have more in common than he supposes, viz collecting full sets.

"Yes, you are," Phil says. There's a smile in his voice. Clint contends himself with leaning in just a fraction, bumping their shoulders together companionably. 

"This will never get old," Phil confides under his breath a moment later, watching Stark warily poke at the ginger kitten's tiny little ear. "Seeing Stark get played like that, by Captain Rogers of all people."

"He is more devious than he seems," Clint agrees, and tries not to smile. He too enjoys those moments probably more than is healthy. "You've got stars in your eyes again, sir," he advises gently, not looking up from his book.

"I do not," Phil protests, but he so does, Clint doesn't need to see his face to know. (He tries not to look into Phil's face too much, as a rule. He tends to get distracted and forget to look away.)

After a moment, Phil turns from the spectacle of the Avengers actively adopting a kitten, transferring his gaze to the side of Clint's face. Clint doesn't react at first, but he gives in when a full minute goes by and Phil doesn't look away.

"Something on my face?" he hazards.

Phil smiles. "I just missed it," he says quietly.

Clint's heart suddenly feels like it's going to stomp out of his chest. 

"Well, it's here. It'll be here while you go save the world with your ducklings."

"You shouldn't call them that."

"Why not? If the shoe fits..."

Phil doesn't reply, which Clint knows is his way of conceding the point. Clint looks back down at his book, insides churning. He wants to say something, do something, anything not to let this moment slip through his fingers, but he's at a loss as to what. If it were any other person, he would ask if they were hitting on him and proceed accordingly. But it's been so many years of this between them, of a meeting of minds, of each of them knowing what the other is thinking with no more than a glance. Surely by now Clint would know?

It just figures that this would be one area in which he can't read Phil -- probably because the answer matters so much.

"You're not enjoying your present?" Phil asks, obviously changing the subject. The moment is gone, and Clint wants to cry, because how many more times will he let slip through his fingers? He is starting to wonder if this isn't one of those tragic stories where things are doomed to linger unsaid forever.

"They're enjoying it plenty," he says, forcing himself to not sound as maudlin as he feels. It's not as hard as it might have been, since he is honestly amused at the tableau before them. "I think Rogers might let it sleep in his bed, the way he's mooning at it."

Phil doesn't say anything for a long moment. Then, "That's not why I brought it here."

Clint lifts an eyebrow. "No? I thought we were a more stable environment for raising a cat than Fury's plane."

"We call it the Bus now. And yes, it is that. As stable as they get, really. I--I know..."

Phil Coulson, lost for words. Clint puts his book down now, because this is not something that happens every day and deserves his full attention. Phil's jaw spasms, like he's gritting his teeth and girding his metaphorical loins. This Clint has to hear.

Phil takes a deep breath, then gives Clint his stubborn look. "I know you've always wanted a pet, but you never thought you could have one with the way we lived. Things are different now. You can have things that maybe you couldn't before."

Clint abruptly loses the ability to breathe. "Things?"

Phil nods, swallows. "If you want them." 

He's looking at Clint straight on, a little shy, a little reserved. Like he's expecting to be made aware of the error of his assumptions. 

Clint very carefully places the book in his hands on the sofa by his hip, on the opposite side of where Phil sits. Then, equally carefully, he takes Phil's left hand in his, stops to look down at it in wonder for a moment because he can't quite believe this is happening, and then with great deliberation he threads his fingers through Phil's. Phil's hand curls in a little, tucking Clint's inside it, like he wants to keep him there, keep him safe. Clint feels a traitorous prickling behind his eyelids, because apparently this _isn't_ one of those doomed stories after all. 

"Hey! Barton! Come and weigh in on this, you can chat to your boyfriend later."

It's the completely unsurprised note in Stark's voice that puts the cherry on the most surreal evening of Clint's life. He looks up and the six of them are looking at him expectantly, like the fact that Clint's world is shaking apart and rebuilding itself brand new is going right over their heads. Like they don't think what's going on _is_ anything new. Even _Natasha_ looks like this is par for the course.

Clint needs a minute to compose himself, because if he starts laughing now he fears he might never stop.

"Later?" he asks softly, looking back at Phil's quietly happy face.

"Yes," Phil says. He's smiling that secret smile of his that, now that Clint thinks about it, he has never seen Phil give anyone else.

"Okay then," Clint says. He still hasn't let go of Phil's hand.

"Barton, seriously, get over here. I am not having that monster named Fluffy on my watch."

"You are such a Mrs. Grundy, Tony."

"I'm a what now? Hang on a minute, this is cheating, JARVIS, I want it on record that Captain Perfect is cheating--"

Clint heaves a sigh, and doesn't call Phil on the fact that he's clearly laughing inside. 

"Dissent in the ranks," Phil says. "You'd better check that before it escalates to an all-out war." 

He still hasn't let go of Clint's hand, either.

"No thanks to you," Clint grumbles, but reluctantly untangles their fingers and stands up. (He misses Phil's warm, strong hand immediately.) "All right, for god's sake, Cap, please stop needling him or we'll never see the end of the night. Stark, can you stop being a dick and let them name the cat whatever they like? You didn't want it in the first place, remember?"

The kitten, unlike anything Clint expects or is prepared for, does not disappear under the sofa the second Pepper's fingers loosen from around its little body. Rather, it jumps to the floor and totters in Clint's direction, determined face twitching with curiosity.

"Oh, look, Clint, he likes you," Pepper says happily. Clint lets his mouth twitch into a smile, and does not look back towards the sofa. He wouldn't put it past Phil to have dosed him with catnip to effect this scene, but it doesn't change the fact that the kitten is currently winding around his ankles and purring like a tiny little engine.

"I'm as shocked as you," Clint assures her, but does lean down to pick it up and bring it to his face. It bats at his nose with a small paw. Clint is, despite himself, instantly, helplessly charmed. 

"Okay," he says, "first of all, it's a she, and second of all, she needs a bath. Also, she looks like a Miranda to me."

"Oh, sweet hell, no," Stark exclaims, recoiling. He is echoed by at least three other objections, in various tones of disapproval.

"Tough shit," Clint smirks, scratching the purrpeto mobile under her chin. 

He'll call his kitten whatever he likes.


End file.
